


Taken by Storm

by Trilies



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Nonbinary Character, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexual Exhaustion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-03
Updated: 2015-06-03
Packaged: 2018-04-02 15:01:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4064347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trilies/pseuds/Trilies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short lesson in why one should not be a huge cocktease to Storm types, or perhaps exactly why one should be, as demonstrated by Mammon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taken by Storm

Mammon hadn’t even meant to do it, in the beginning. It’d just been a minor slip up, their bodies too close and an unexpected tension thrumming between them like electricity, and the illusionist had retreated from uncertainty and flustered shock and all the other emotions they did their best to bury beneath their hood. Fon had let them, even though his eyes had been dark in desire over that infuriatingly calm and soft smile of his. 

That reaction- or lack of one- had been both a relief and an aggravation. Save for their first kiss, hell even then, Fon had always been soft and allowing. He never seemed to really react, not like Mammon always did. Probably some stupid Chinese philosophy or something, they were sure of it, like “be as strong and bending as bamboo” or whatever other garbage. 

It had been that sort of thought, albeit suddenly and out of nowhere, that had pushed Mammon to try something similar the next time the two of them met. And then again. And again. 

Teasing Fon became fun. 

Admittedly... They’d been wondering when, if ever, he would snap. Even if they were all former Acrobaleno, they and Fon were still human in the end. No matter the reserves of patience the martial artist had, there had to be an end to it somewhere. 

Well. They’d found it. Found it as he pounded into them relentlessly, body as tireless as a machine. His body burned up beneath Mammon’s arms as the illusionist clung to him, claws digging into skin, and while they’d appreciated it in the beginning... It was hard to appreciate anything when the world could only be seen through a fog of brutal pleasure and all too sensitive touch, every single bit of their body quivering. 

Hours. They had to have been going at this for hours now, Mammon thought almost deliriously as their blunt nails scrambled against the tense muscles of Fon’s back. They’d lost count of how many times he had made them come over the edge, only at some point there had stopped being any edge to tumble over and now they were weightless, formless, centered solely around Fon, and it was hard to even feel any ache or pain when it felt like they were submerged in so much pleasure it was like they were drowning in it. 

Another shift, a thrust, and the world dissolved into light. There couldn’t have been anymore of their voice left to give, but Mammon found themselves surprised as they heard a long high cry that took them a moment for them to recognize as their own. So much pleasure, it was practically pain. 

“Fon-!” A ragged gasp, half a dry sob, how long had he been pulling these noises from their throat until it felt worn and rough? Mammon was too prideful to beg, had gone through too much bullshit to give way in their life, but Fon had worn them down and broken them apart, reduced to a small shaking body holding onto him for dear life. They’d fucking beg for even a breath, even a moment of reprieve. “Fon, I, I can’t, s’too much, just, I can’t, I can’t-” 

And for a moment, he seemed to listen. The movements didn’t stop, just slowed, became shallow, soft thrusts into their oversensitive body that were still too much, far too much. The world came into focus again as Fon looked into their eyes again, and Mammon knew they looked a mess- shaking, body flushed, tears pinpricking at the corners of their eyes, hair either sticking to their face or sprawled across the mattress. A mess, really, yet through the haze Mammon could just barely make out an utterly satisfied edge to Fon’s smile. He kissed them, and it seemed to take everything of worth from their lips until they were panting as he pulled away. 

“You can, Mammon,” he murmured, and for a moment he seemed to be the same Fon as always even with their bodies pressed together and Mammon a wreck beneath him. Then something in his gaze sharpened, became piercing, and the illusionist clung on as hard as their weak shivering fingers could manage in preparation for the words that came next- 

“You  _will_.” 

The world burst into light again. 

\------

“VOOOOOOOOOOIIIII!” Fon held Mammon’s phone away from his ear, a slight grimace crossing his face. The Varia’s infamous second-in-command kept going, volume just barely lowered. “Mammon, what the hell have you been doing!? You were supposed to check in yesterday!” 

“My apologies. I am afraid the blame for such a delay rests on my shoulders,” Fon replied calmly, tentatively bringing the phone back closer. “We engaged in a bout-” There was no hiding the smile in his voice. “-and I am afraid a bit of carelessness took the better of us both. Mammon is recuperating for the day.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line as Squalo took in his voice. “You’re the Storm Arcobaleno... The martial artist, Fon. I remember you.” A sigh whispered through the phone. “Well, as long as they’re not dead and come back within the week, that’s fine. That’s our best fucking illusionist over there, so don’t pull anymore shit!” 

“I will endeavor to remember your words.” Chuckling, Fon snapped the phone shut and looked over to where the illusionist in question was perched. “He remains as full of passion as always, I see.” 

Mammon just glared back at him, eyes glimmering silver in aggravation before they jerked their head away to watch the outside world. They made quite a sight, one which Fon made no secret in admiring, as they stayed curled up on the window sill of his quiet little abode. They seemed so delicate with how they sat, no doubt to keep undue weight off of certain sore areas, and they seemed especially so with Fon’s robe curled around them that was far too big for their small frame. Violet hair was still a mess as it fell around their face, not long enough to hide the beautiful row of bruises that matched its color and lay all along Mammon’s throat and shoulders. He was sure if he ventured a look, a mere push of the sleeves away from those folded hands on Mammon’s lap, he’d find similar coloration around their wrists here his fingers had grasped them. 

Truly so very lovely, and Fon would have had no qualms about watching them for the rest of his day. 

Yet there was the pot whistling, and he quickly went to work preparing a cup of tea. “Here,” he murmured as he came closer and offered the cup, “This should help soothe your throat and hopefully help to restore your voice.” Just that reminder of their voice situation and what had  _lead_  to it seemed to make Mammon bristle, and they snatched the cup from his hands with an angry flush upon their cheeks that made their markings stand out all the more. Fon could only quietly laugh as they turned away from him. Teasingly, he let himself settle behind them. 

Watching them was pleasant, but to be besides the one he loved... He preferred that much more. 


End file.
